Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

to you and me. I don’t care.”
“I care.”
Ren sighs. “Clearly. And here we are—you, a fresh level of ornery, and me,
so freaking hard I’ll be lucky if I can skate straight.”
“Aw. Dumpling. Are we having our first fight?”
Before he can sass me back, a sports car cuts us off, exploiting the safe
following distance Ren’s afforded the car in front of us.
Ren has to hit the brakes hard. His hand instinctively spans my chest,
holding me back as his eyes fly to the rearview mirror, rightfully anticipating a
possible rear-end collision, which we somehow avoid.
Adrenaline pounds through my body. I exhale in relief, and glance down at
Ren’s arm, still protectively stretched across me. Tears blur my vision. I’m
holding my breath. It flashes through my mind that if I’d been with my family,
with my friends from college, it would have been a whole smothering to-do.
Worries about whiplash. Demands for X-rays.
Please don’t do it. Please don’t—
Abruptly, Ren’s arm leaves my body and with a slam of his fist, he nails the
horn. Jabbing a bunch of buttons until his window lowers, Ren yells at the
douchebag Boxster in front of us, “Swag-bellied miscreant!”
I bite my cheek. Bringing my hand to the base of Ren’s neck, I slip my
fingers through the shaggy upturn of his thick hair, hoping to soothe him a little.
Ren jerks a sharp glance at me. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Nothing hurts?” he presses.
I shake my head. And wait with bated breath for what comes next.
“Okay.” He exhales heavily, scrubbing his face. Turning, he cups my cheeks
and kisses me. His hands start traveling my body, like he doesn’t believe me.
“You sure nothing hurts?”
“I’m okay, Ren.” Gently, I scrape my nails through the scruff of his beard
and kiss him back. “Trust me?”
He nods. “Okay. We’re all right.” A car horn sounds behind us. Ren’s gaze
swivels to the rearview mirror with a ferocious glare. Bright morning sun beats
down on him, making his hair glow fiery red. And by Jesus Skipping through the
Resurrection Garden, Ren scowls.
Everything inside me turns inferno hot. Not-smiling Søren Bergman is
nothing short of magnificent.
“You’re awfully handsome when you’re angry, sweet cheeks.”
He narrows those cat eyes on me. “Why are you the one using infuriating pet
names and smiling,” he grits out, “and I’m the one cursing at strangers while